


I'll Be There

by australiansurmise



Category: The Pirate Queen - Boublil & Schönberg
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Ireland, Musical, pirate queen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/australiansurmise/pseuds/australiansurmise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles on Tiernan coping with Grania's marriage to Donal and the other disasters in their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Be There

Her smile was forced; anyone could see that.

Well, maybe not _anyone_. But anyone who knew her well, of course. But the O'Flaherty just smiled in response, believing her decisive words, that unconvincing upturn of her lips that Tiernan hardly considered a smile and desired so much to shake off her face.

 _But no_ , he insistently calmed himself. _You leave her alone. She's not yours anymore. she chose him. She chose him and left you._

He turned away from the scene, biting back the bitter pain that gnawed at his heart. His broken, crushed, _dying_ heart she had so carelessly tossed away.  
 _No_ , another voice nagged at him. _Not careless. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she chose to do it anyway._ Somehow that hurt even more, knowing that this pain she caused him was inflicted intentionally.

She didn't want to hurt him, Tiernan knew that. Grania wanted to help Ireland, the clan, her father; everyone except herself. A problem in Tiernan's eyes, an admirable trait in others'.

Not that it truly mattered, if truths were coming to light. Grace would do as she pleased, just as she always had, ignoring even the opinions of those she held so dear.

 _Where do I go from here?_ Should he slink off somewhere else, anywhere else, where it wasn't so O'Malley, so painful, so... _Grania?_ Did he stay close, biding his time, lurking in the shadows like a patient parasite, waiting for the moment she tired of her O'Flaherty husband and desired Tiernan once more? Should he find another woman, an eye for an eye, retaliate in the same manner he had been hurt?

 _No._ He shook his head angrily, walking away from the gathering. He was Irish, for God's sake. He would be _strong_ , a true Irishman, unlike the swine she was to marry. The wounds would heal, make him stronger in the end, make him all the better to be by her side. He would find it in himself to stay beside her through it all, no matter how hard it wrenched his heart from his chest to do so.

"Tiernan!"

Freezing at the sound of her voice, Tiernan schooled his expression in an attempt to hide his internal turmoil, realizing with a twinge of annoyance that he would fool her no more that she had him. He turned to face her, breath kept tightly inside.

Grania hesitated a moment. "Tiernan, I-"

"Congratulations on your engagement, Grace," he cut in quickly, stopping whatever meaningless comfort she was attempting to bestow on him.

She didn't respond, nodding a little. Thinking for just a moment, she said, "It would mean a lot to me if you would be there." Grania paused. "But if you...do not wish to...I understand." She glanced over her shoulder once, squeezed his hand quickly, gave him a weak smile (this one was real, at least), and hurried off.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth as he watched her retreating figure. But the taste of the words in his head were fiery, defiant, _strong._

 _I'll be there_ , he thought as he turned away once more. A deep breath steadied him, an angry punch at a nearby tree calmed him and gifted him with a new, controllable, tolerable pain to focus on, making his internal mantra all the clearer.

_I'll be there._


	2. Is it Me I'm Deceiving?

"Tiernan, please!"

He shook his head once more, pushing her away a little less than gently. "Go away, Grania. You are to marry Donal tomorrow. It is not good for you to be here. With me." Try as he might, he couldn't keep the other man's name from sounding like a sneer when he pronounced it.

She grasped his hand tightly. "This...this could be our last night together." Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, and though he told his body _no,_ he leaned into her touch, craving more.

"No, Grania," he insisted, pulling away from her. "We had our last night before you announced your engagement." He had only felt the brush of her hand since that night, but still he could recall with painful clarity the passion, the heat; Grania around him, on him, everywhere, pushing, pulling him farther and further away from the rest of the world until only Grania remained...

Tiernan shook his head to clear it, stepping away from her again, cursing his over eager body.

"You know I do not wish to do this."

"Then don't," Tiernan told her once more, all the venom and anger and heat the statement was originally delivered with now gone. "The choice is yours, you said so yourself."

"I have a duty," she retorted stubbornly. "To my father. To my clan. To Ireland." She paused. "Yes. The choice was mine, and I have made it."

"Well this choice is mine, and I have made it," Tiernan told her firmly. "Go find your fiancé - I hear he likes to sleep around, and what's one night early?"

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, especially as he watched Grania's face. To the untrained eye, no reaction would be visible, but Tiernan knew better. The slight twitch of her lips betrayed the hurt she felt, the higher frequency of blinks showed the defiant anger that boiled up inside.

"Grace- Grania, " he corrected quickly. "I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean..."

She shrugged. "If that's how you feel," she muttered, turning to leave, the hunch of her usually so proud shoulders telling Tiernan he couldn't leave it like this.

"Grania, wait," he said, catching her shoulder to spin her back around. She shook him off, but he grabbed both of her shoulders and pushed her against the wall so that she was facing him.

"Let me go!" she demanded, pushing half-heartedly against his hands that pinned her shoulders against the wall. "Tiernan!"

"Shh," he told her, bringing one hand up to push her hair back. "I will never leave you," he murmured, taking her hands in his as she stopped struggling. "I will always be there for you."

She studied his face, as if trying to judge if there was a lie hidden there. "Really?"

Squeezing her hands gently, he nodded. "You'll need me one day. I would rather watch you marry a hundred other men than be away from you."

A brief pause, and then her beautiful laughter. "Let's just start with this one, alright?"

He laughed too, despite his anger. "As you wish." Perhaps he shouldn't have, but he pulled her into tight hug, clinging to her nearly as desperately as she clung to him.

"But Grania...please don't ask things of me I cannot give. Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"I understand," she replied, pulling away. "Thank you." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I love you."

_Hard to believe_ , he thought, but smiled all the same. "And I love you." _More than you will ever know._


	3. Stripped of Pride Yet Still Proud

_"May God bless the bride and groom."_

The words echoed in his head as the crowd took up the song, words pounding, running rampant through his mind. Dear Lord, his head hurt.

He attended the wedding as he had promised, though his head seemed to revolt every moment he was there. His head ached fiercely, and nothing he did seemed to abate it.

He stood at the edge of the gathering, so his lack of participation in the celebration would go unnoticed. Though he wished his Grania all the best, the words to the communal blessing caught in his throat.

_No - just Grania_ , he corrected. Not _his_ anymore.

_But she is_ , another voice nagged at him. _You made a vow. 'We'll be one forever now.' That means you are hers and she is yours, forever._

Then why was he standing here at her wedding, watching another man claim her as his own?

Because it would hurt a hundred times worse to be away from her. How could he deal with the fact she was marrying another without his experiencing the event?

"Dance with me, Tiernan!" Majella grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the dancing group. _When had that started?_ "Let's show these O'Flaherty how a real clan dances!"

Finding no reason to protest, he threw himself into the dance, finding some semblance of a rhythm. He was not a skilled dancer; Grania often made fun of him for it, but tonight he danced with all his might, glad for something to focus on besides his nearly broken heart.

At least the pounding in his head matched the pounding of the drum. The whiskey someone pressed into his hand was strong and fiery, and he found himself enjoying the rush of the music and dance and women and alcohol that was coursing through his system. It felt so good to be young, to be strong, to be free of the complications that had made his life so difficult for the past weeks. It all came out as he danced hard, probably poorly, at his beloved's wedding.

He threw back the next whiskey cup handed to him, laughing with the cheers of the O'Malley women, only freezing when he met Grania's eyes across the room.

She was standing next to her husband, watching him with a schooled neutral expression. When she caught his gaze, she smiled. He nodded once, raising a fresh glass in her direction with a challenging look.

Grinning in response, Grania grabbed the nearest cup and raised it up. It was a game they played: who could swallow the drink faster.

They downed their glasses at precisely the same moment, coming back down almost simultaneously as well. The O'Malley clan, used to such displays, cheered and hollered in response, startling the watching O'Flaherty's to join in hesitantly.

She smiled, the first real, unrestrained Tiernan had seen on her face in weeks, and it caused his own injured heart to soar so high that he knew he had made the right decision, that he would stay by her side for eternity without once touching her if only she would give him that smile just once a year.

But then the moment was over, and Majella and Muireann were pulling him back into the dance, and the clan was all around him, and he couldn't see Grania anymore.

As they celebrated late into the night, Tiernan only caught glimpses of Grace, but with every passing moment he became more and more convinced of his decision.

He could do this, stay by her side without losing his mind, as crazy as it may seem. Yes, he could be there, no matter how much that hurt.

And wasn't that the definition of love?


	4. Mad or Not, I'll Stay True

"We sail on the morrow."

The truth was there; both clans would leave the next day. Tiernan thought he would be happy, but when he recalled that Grace would remain behind with the other women, his heart fell once more. How her husband had gotten her to swallow that order and lived to tell the tale was beyond Tiernan, but even from the distance he purposely kept he could feel her radiating, seething anger.

What hurt even more was knowing he sailed with Clan O'Malley tomorrow, away from her, along with all of those she had ever known. She would be utterly alone in a sea of O'Flaherty women, who would consider her as much of an outsider as she would them.

But what was his other option? Stay, and be regarded as weak, like a woman? He doubted in even Grania would wish him to do that. He was a sailor, had been his whole life, knew no other life.

She would be fine. This was Grania for heaven's sake, she was strong, more than capable of taking care of herself. The women would likely offer little opposition to whatever she chose to do.

Yes, Grania would be fine. The better question was in regards to his own well being. He knew it was crazy, and perhaps a little stupid, but he felt as if he was betraying her, breaking his promise. He was leaving her here, amidst a clan most O'Malley still considered an enemy.

But he had left her on the shore many times before, and he was coming back as soon as he could. What more could he honestly do? Could Grania really fault him for this little stretch of his promise when she had thrown her own vow to the ground and crushed it under her heels?

Tiernan shook his head, banishing such thoughts from his mind. The bitterness, the anger, was almost gone from his body, but the pain still ached at his insides, though the sharp, unbearable stabs of agony had mostly subsided. He was making progress, certainly, but it was slow, albeit steady, and would require more time if he wished to recover completely.

Which I have, he reminded himself. He would be able to figure himself out on the sea, without her distracting gaze following him wherever he walked. (Though as a rule he didn't mind being undressed by Grace O'Malley's eyes, Grace O'Flaherty was a completely different story.)

Did she compare him to the man she married when she lay with her husband under the cover of darkness, desperately trying to conceive an heir? When she responded to his caresses, did her lips mouth Tiernan though the hands belonged to another?

No, he would not think of such things. It would only cause the anger and pain to boil up again, breaking the precariously maintained calm he experienced. He hoped she damn well enjoyed her new husband (and his caresses) for all the pain it was causing him.

When dawn came the next day, and both ships were preparing to depart, Tiernan watched from the deck as Grace looked at the Pirate Queen wistfully, wrapped in a cloak against the morning chill.

He had warned her; the life that her new husband offered would not be anything compared to the one she had experienced in these past few months, but still the look on her face wrenched his heart.

Perhaps it was not very intelligent, but Tiernan could not resist rowing back to the shore with the last shift to say goodbye.

She smiled when she saw him, but it didn't reach her eyes and it mostly certainly did not fool him. "Come to say a tearful goodbye?"

He laughed, just a little. "I can't promise tears, but I'll try my best."

"You didn't have to come."

A little nod. "I know. I wanted to."

There was a silence that bordered on uncomfortable, but somehow even her marriage could not make their bond so estranged as to deem the silence awkward.

The thought brought a little bit of comfort to Tiernan, though he could not put words to the reasoning he had for it. "So goodbye, then," he told her with a surprisingly easy smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I highly doubt it."

He shrugged. "As you will. Don't cause too much trouble."

"No promises." A pause, and then, just as he turned to walk away, "Take care of my ship."

He turned back for one last moment. "Take care of my heart. I leave it in your care, always."


	5. Unyielding and Unbowed

Every moment without her hurt.

It seemed stupid; he had been without her for months on end before the ship had been christened, it had only been a few days, for heaven's sake.

But still he could not convince his body or mind that he was whole now without her. He had grown so used to her presence that every moment he sailed seemed emptier, every captain's order that he followed seemed to miss the flourish he had become so accustomed to. Chieftain Dubhdara viewed his command as a right, gave every order with the ease and inattentiveness of one trained for chieftain, who knew no other alternative, could see no other life where he didn't have automatic power.

Grania, used to taking orders as opposed to giving them, savored every command as a unique opportunity, delivering each one with excitement and personality that made all of her sailors smile to sail for her.

He liked to think that she had the most fun ordering him around; chieftain's daughter or not, she was still a woman, and a fiery one at that, suppressed by her gender for many long years.

"Tiernan," she would say, flipping her hair over her shoulder, leaving him speechless in witness of the sun and the sea she so thrived in. "Meet me in my cabin tonight."

"Aye, captain," he would reply, knowing he was in for a long night he would most likely regret as he raised the rigging the next morning.

He had expected to feel jealousy and annoyance at her new command, but all he could see was how happy she was, how alive the sea made her, and how naturally she rose to the occasion. There was no awkward transition period; one day she was a woman of age, the next a true Irish pirate captain. He was so in awe of her (and the nights in her cabin) that he must have forgotten to feel jealous somewhere along the way.

She was careful to treat him equally, though, showing him little favoritism and earning him only a few teasing comments from the other sailors. He didn't know how much of that was due to his confession of his fears in the dead of night, whispering undeserving and fair captain and captain's wife, trembling at the effort it took to confide such things even to her.

Truth be told, they were wonderful months, perfect, even; so perfect that he should have known, should have seen the danger lurking on the horizon.  
But he didn't see it, hadn't wanted to see it, had let it sneak up and crush both of them from the inside out.

And yet he couldn't seem to regret any of it; not the carefree, exciting days, nor the hard working days aboard. It was all so beautiful that he could not seem to regret any single moment.

Those days would not have been so amazing if they had been constantly on edge, vigilant for every oncoming threat. The memories learned confidently in his mind, sustaining him when nothing else could.

_Those_ memories could sustain him for a lifetime.


	6. A Life Lived Apart

Two weeks on the sea and his heart was on the mend.

Being away from her, missing her, helped his anger to cool and his emotions to return to their normal resting places inside his mind.

It still ached, sometimes, when he was allowed too much time to think. Before, Chieftain Dubhdara always laughed at him for doing as such.

"Tiernan!" the chieftain would call, startling him out of whatever task he was doing at the time. "What are you doing?"

And Tiernan would smile and reply, "Thinking."

Dubhdara would laugh boisterously, and slap him on the back. "Stop that, boy! You're only supposed to think what I tell you!"

He missed that, too, once in awhile, when he received an order without a jibe or (somewhat) lewd remark. "My girl better still be a virgin, sailor," or "You break her heart, you won't last long, lad!" Always with a twinkle in his eye to temper his harsh words.

It was different now; the teasing had been left behind with Grania. Dubhdara was awkward, uncomfortable around him, unsure of their relationship now as this wedding has been of his making.

Another blow to his heart. He didn't really blame Dubhdara for the situation; after all, Grace always insisted the choice was hers. If Grania had chosen not to marry, only an intervening act of God would have gotten her to participate.

But still their relationship suffered. Tiernan no longer found himself listening to the chieftain's complaints of an aging body or unruly sailors. The void left by this change seemed incredibly large, unable to be filled by anything on board the ship.

Sometimes he found himself wishing he knew how to write; it seemed that he would be able to rid himself of all of these feelings bottled up inside if only he knew how to make those shapes into sounds, give them meanings, give them life.

But he knew nothing of such learned things. He had laughed when Grania mentioned it, asking her what a common sailor would need with conjugating Latin verbs and other such nonsense. Now, as he lay alone, no confidant in sight, he cursed himself for not begging her to teach him how to interpret the scratches she made on her paper.

She was learned; she spoke Gaelic, English and Latin, and could write in all of them. Tiernan spoke Gaelic with a sailor's accent and vocabulary, and his English was passable at best. (Something he should probably look into if things continued to go the way they were.) He could not even write his name.

He had no other outlet for his feelings than his work. (If he and the chief were still close, someone might have admitted that the ship had never been half as clean as it was today.) Scrubbing and repairing and sailing was much more enjoyable than uncomfortable small talk with the other sailors, or lonely nights in the barracks with far too much time to think.

He was surprised when the chief called him into his cabin, but obeyed as any member of the crew would. Dubhdara looked up as he entered, smiling a little. "Tiernan, come in. Have a seat."

Obliging, he perched himself on the only free chair, a rickety scrap of wood more fit for firewood than furniture. "Have I done something wrong, captain?"  
Dubhdara shifted in his own chair. "No, not exactly...I wanted to know how you're doing."

"I'm fine, captain," Tiernan replied, too quickly even for his own peace of mind. "Honestly. I'm adjusting." _Damn it_. he thought, annoyed. _I can't even convince myself..._

"You're keeping to yourself." At Tiernan's silence, he continued, "It's not like you."

"I...It'shard to talk with them. They treat me differently."

The chieftain considered him for a moment. "I'll work out moving you to another ship."

"No!" Tiernan forced himself to relax. "No. Please. I don't want to leave _The Queen_. I want to stay...I like working here."

"Alright," Dubhdara agreed, sounding a little bemused. "Have you considered that you might be treating the other sailors differently? I know you miss her, but you've got to move on. Go drink and party with the crew, sailor. We're a clan. We'll get through this as such." Dubhdara got to his feet, coming over to clap him on the shoulder. "You're not alone, Tiernan. You're only isolated if you choose to be."

Tiernan stared at his hands for a long moment. "I miss her," he finally admitted.

"I miss her, too. Every day of my life," Dubhdara replied with an easy smile.

"I'll try to go back to being Irish," Tiernan promised, thinking of his recent avoidance of alcohol and music and people.

Dubhdara laughed loudly. "What else can I expect?"

Even Tiernan found himself smiling a little. Putting himself back together was proving to be quite a trial, but perhaps it was time he kicked it into high gear.

Life wouldn't wait forever.


	7. More than Faith

"I'm sure she's fine, Tiernan," Dubhdara assured him, considering the young man before him for a long moment. "If there's one thing I know, Grania can take care of herself."

"But - "

"That is the last I want to hear on the subject. We will continue our voyage as planned. Back to your duties, sailor."

Despite Dubhdara's reassurances, Tiernan could not shake the insistent feeling of dread and horror that his dreams had afforded him. Three nights of the same nightmare had finally gotten his courage up to speak to the captain.

He hadn't slept much in the past two days, lying in his barrack, afraid to drift off lest images of Grania and faceless men and violence burn into his eyelids.

_Grania knows what she is doing_ , he told himself firmly. _No man, regardless of who he is, could get the better of her._

But the quiet nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him that she was in unfamiliar territory, with unfamiliar people, and was completely out of her element. _Get a hold of yourself_ , his mind insisted. _There's nothing you can do, so worrying is pointless._

That night, Tiernan sat on the deck, fingering his rosary and staring up at the stars. His mind wandered from his catechism as he wondered whether the same stars shone down on Iar Connaught.

Idly he realized he had thought through this train of thought before. _You're losing your mind_ , he thought to himself. _What, are you so weak, dependent on her that you can barely function without her?_

* * *

It was easier, sometimes, to forget about everything by working his body past the point of exhaustion, mindlessly doing whatever task was thrust into his hands, no matter how menial.

It meant that he no longer had to think about anything, could just listen and obey and work from dawn until dusk, and fall into bed too exhausted to dream. It was a fantastic coping method, though sometimes his body protested almost more than he could bear.

Time passed faster this way, he decided, when he stopped thinking and simply obeyed without question. He was even moderately cheerful on the off days when someone passed around a skein of whatever alcohol happened to be on hand.

It was one of these days that he found himself lounging on the deck with the other sailors, taking turns swallowing a swig of whiskey and talking, mostly, as was usual, about women, boasting, as was usual, of their conquests.

He was half listening, laughing when one story was rather impressive or humorous. He almost never shared his own - his interests before Grania virtually nonexistent - and speaking of the captain's daughter was sure to bring trouble he was not interested in experiencing.

"Come on, Tiernan," someone said, clapping him on the back. "You've never told us about any of the women you've had!"

Someone else laughed. "It's because he's never had any!"

"Yes, I have," he replied quickly, shrugging. "There's just not much to tell."

"Over too fast, eh?"

"Aww, come on," someone cajoled. "Tell us, how is Grania? Is she as fiery in bed as she is on a ship?"

"Ship approaching off the starboard side!"

Tiernan was never so happy to hear the alert sound from the crow's next. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried to the edge of the deck, squinting at the fast approaching ship in the distance. He couldn't stop the shot of hate that coursed through his veins at what he was almost positive was an English flag flying above the ship.

Another sailor came up beside him. "Do you think...?"

"Sasanach*, I'm pretty sure," Tiernan replied. "You'd better get the captain. Now."

The boy scurried off to do as he said. Tiernan took a deep breath, turning his back to the approaching vessel. "Man the weapons!" he called out, striding quickly towards the upper deck.

The Irish flag snapped in the wind, assuring him of the inevitability of the oncoming fight.

* * *

 

"We're being boarded!"

The obvious nature of that statement was accented as metal hissed through the air near Tiernan's ear. He ducked and spun, drawing his sword and swinging it at the Englishman's feet.

The man went down with a howl, which died out pitifully when Tiernan gifted him a sword through the heart.

Given a slight respite from the battle, his eyes focused across the deck, where Dubhdara fought one on one with an English sailor. Caught up in his fight, the chieftain couldn't see the pistol being aimed directly at him.

The steps he took across the deck didn't even register; all he could think was that he was her _father_ and he couldn't face her to give her _that_ news and he wouldn't answer to that swine of a husband of hers as chieftain and he had to stop this and _damn_  the English and -

Pain. He forgot all else except the radiating pain from the bullet that pierced his shoulder. The deck came up to meet him, and he let himself be lost to the thankfully less painful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sasanach - Gaelic word for English


	8. More than Anything

They had met on the beach.

It was an unseasonably warm day in Iar Connaught, and he had managed to sneak away from his father and the fishing boat long enough to run into the sea to cool off. He was eight - and already adept at escaping his father's ire - and was enjoying his small ounce of freedom, splashing through the shallows to dive deeper.

And then, suddenly, he couldn't get back up. Something - someone - was holding him under, forcing him to inhale the salty waves. He struggled fiercely, trying to get his head above the surface, but was losing energy almost as fast as his air supply.

Panicking, he kicked out with his last gust of ferocity, knocking  _hard_ into something beside him. He jumped to the surface, gasping wildly, trying to move as fast as possible away from whoever had been attacking him.

"Oh..."

He looked up to see a girl staring back at him, just as he collapsed to the ground at the edge of the shore. Her short black hair flipped in the breeze, flinging salty water around as she considered him with a confused expression as he choked out the sea from his lungs.

"You're not who I thought you were," she said, tossing her hair. "I thought you were one of the boys who picked on me." She looked abashed for a brief moment, but then she bounded over, waiting while he finished expelling salt water. "I'm Grania," she told him, holding out her hand.

He took it cautiously, letting her help him to his feet. "I'm Tiernan," he replied.

A broad, carefree grin lit up her face. "Sorry for trying to drown you, Tiernan."

He couldn't help himself from laughing along with her.

A severe jolt of pain jerked him out of the much more pleasant memory to his current reality. He clenched his jaw against the moan of pain that threatened to escape, arching involuntarily against the prodding hands.

"Hold still, Tiernan!" Other hands pushed his other shoulder back down as the  _painful_  prodding continued.

Tiernan wrenched open his eyes to see the ship's doctor and another sailor looming over him. He only suffered a few moments of confusion before it all came flooding back. The battle and the chieftain and the  _gun_...

"You're lucky, Tiernan," the doctor told him, patting him on the other shoulder as the other sailor released him. "Looks like it went straight through. Just a little disinfection and we'll bandage you right up. You'll be out of commission for a couple weeks, at least..."

He groaned a little.  _Two weeks, lying around, having time to think...two weeks of time to think about her..._  Maybe the pain in his shoulder would distract him.

"The captain," he managed to bite out, inhaling sharply against the pain. "Is he...okay?"

"Ah, just a graze. A small bandage, he'll be fine..."

Well, at least that was something. Tiernan let his eyes close, trying to ignore the sound of a bottle of whiskey being opened, especially as he was certain it was about to be poured into his shoulder...

All doubt was taken away when someone pressed down on his other shoulder and his legs, and the last thought besides  _ow_  he had was that at least he could bank on passing out sooner or later.

And then, Grania would be there.

 


	9. Heaven Speed Me by Your Side

Just stay calm.

It was honestly the only thing that Tiernan could really think about as the ship neared to shore. His heart was in his throat the entire ride to land, making it nearly impossible to row across the water with the others.

Having to tell her this...it was not how he wanted to see her again. He promised to be there fore her, and he would, but that did not make it any easier to do.

It was almost as if he was in a trance as he walked into her home.

"Tiernan!" The smile on her face caused his heart to sink, knowing that he would be the one to replace it with sadness.

"Grania," he greeted, unable to pull up a smile, even for her.

"I didn't expect you back so soon!" she exclaimed, putting down what she was doing. "How was the sea? Did you enjoy yourself?" At his silence, she furrowed her brow in confusion. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

He took a deep breath, trying to get up his courage to tell her, but she pressed on ahead.

"Did...did you sleep with someone?" She paused. (Tiernan reflected absently that the accusation stung even though there was no truth behind it. Perhaps especially  _because_  there was no truth behind it.) "Is Majella alright? The  _Queen_...is she...is she gone?"

"Your father is very sick," he finally stated flatly.

She paused in all movement, just staring at him, mouth open to throw out another guess. "How...how sick?"

"He sent me to take you to him. It would be best if we made all possible haste."

And then she was stumbling, and he was catching her, and cursing himself for not asking her to sit down, and finally he was sitting her down in a chair. "My father is dying," she murmured softly.

He tensed at her words, but nodded his agreement. "Do you...want to be alone?"

Shaking her head slowly, she looked up at him with sad eyes. "Find my husband. We must make preparations immediately."

Regretful to leave her in such a state, yet obligated to obey her as his chieftain's daughter, he nodded, walking to the door.

"Tiernan," she whispered.

"Yes?"

"I...I should have told Donal first, but I haven't...I'm pregnant."

It was his turn to freeze. "Congratulations," he managed to get out. He paused in the doorway. "Tell your husband. He has a right to know."

Somehow this was another betrayal, another rip of his already fragile heart. He'd known it would happen, known it was the goal, and yet it still hurt to discover it was now reality.

She should be carrying  _his_  baby, not the get of her slimy, womanizer of a husband. Did Grania realize he spent his nights whoring and drinking?

_Grania's not stupid,_ he told himself.  _She must know. But if I was in her place, would I want to see? Could I protect myself, pretend things were otherwise?_

The answer was obvious.  _Yes._  Much easier to do than accept that the father of her child was a drunken sex addict.

Tiernan would have made such a better father than  _him_ , and it drove him almost to the point of madness that the undeserving wretch was getting that right which should have been his own.

_But who will actually be the father?_ Another voice inside him asked.  _The one who gave him life, or the one who cherishes and teaches him, comforts and praises him?_

And if Grania was as intelligent as he thought, she would shield him from his biological father and push him to his de facto one.

Ready or not, he supposed he was about to become a father after all.

 


	10. I've Born All that I Must

"Don't forget to bring ale! And plenty of it! We'll need something to celebrate the new chieftain."

A sharp pain his hand made Tiernan glance down, dully realizing it was his own fingernails biting into the skin of his palm. He unclenched his fists, mouth twisting in displeasure as they shook violently with anger. He shifted in his place in the shadows, eyes once again finding the sorry excuse for a man who might soon be his chieftain.

He wasn't so sure he could handle that, having to obey unquestioningly, to be deferent to him. Watching him marry Grania, thinking of the child growing inside her, knowing he could have her any moment he desired was already tearing him apart. Having to listen, to obey...

How could he possibly stay on through that? Sail under the command of a man he despised, for whom he harbored no respect? He had promised, sworn in his heart that he wouldn't leave her, that he would fight through all of his own inner turmoil because although it felt like a betrayal, he knew she was just as unhappy as he was. Being forced to marry against her will, spread her legs for a man she possessed no attraction for were things Tiernan could barely imagine...

You don't know that's how it is, a voice in his head reminded him. For all you know, she could be the one pushing him down and - 

Tiernan forced all such thoughts from his mind as decisively as he could manage. Nothing good would come of that train of thought, he was certain. Moving from his place in the shadows, he stalked toward the O'Flaherty heir, glad to feel the surge of purpose in his deliberate steps. 

He didn't let himself hesitate as he approached, allowing himself no moment of doubt to second guess his decision. He knew it was nearly suicide for a common sailor to question a chieftain, albeit a soon-to-be one, but he couldn't just stand by and watch as Donal carelessly threw around his words in a manner that served no purpose except to offend and injure others.

Donal looked up when he was within a few steps, considering him with condescension clear in his gaze. He seemed to take in Tiernan's defiant posture and hostile gaze, and these only seemed to make his smirk grow. "And who are you?" Donal asked, eyes deliberate studying Tiernan from head to toe. 

"Tiernan of Clan O'Malley," Tiernan answered gruffly. "I -"

"Oh, yes," Donal sneered, cutting him off. "I remember. You're that...boy Grania has wrapped around her finger." He chuckled, looking Tiernan up and down again. "Or should I say her cunt?"

Shaking with rage, Tiernan tried desperately to rein his emotions back in, to refuse to succumb to his taunts. He did not want to imagine the consequences of attacking a soon-to-be chieftain, how difficult this bastard could make his life...

"Not that it's a particularly good cunt, though," Donal continued. "But I prefer mine to be -"

Tiernan slammed him back against the nearest wall, wrenching a surprised gasp from the other man.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Donal demanded, struggling against Tiernan's arm. "I am your chieftain!"

"Not yet, you aren't," Tiernan hissed, shoving him back into the wall. "Now you listen here. You will keep your mouth shut about Grania, and especially about her father. If I ever hear such disrespect and filth out of your mouth again, if you ever cause her pain, I will kill you."

Tiernan let Donal push him back after a few seconds, watching, cool and detached as Donal pulled himself up and rearranged his clothes. He could feel the buzz of adrenaline slowly leaving his veins, and the satisfied warmth in his core after his actions, however ill advised they may have been.

Donal stepped up to him, eyes fixed firmly on Tiernan's. Tiernan stood as still as possible, trying to keep his posture defiant and strong.

After a few long, tense moments, Donal grinned, just a little. "Looks like you've got some balls on you after all," he said with a laugh, stepping away from Tiernan, who knew he must look bewildered at the sudden change in tone.

"You've got guts, I like that," Donal added. "Maybe, under different circumstances, I would've liked you." Still chuckling under his breath, he turned and walked away.

Tiernan really wished the world would make sense, at least once awhile.


	11. Heart Laid Bare

"Come on, Tiernan, stop looking like the English have just taken over," Niall says as he passes him aboard the ship. "Those bastards will never get Clan O'Malley to bow before their bloody throne."

Tiernan scowls as he ties off another rope. "We just lost a chieftain. Where's your respect?"

The other sailor shrugs before turning his gaze to the other side of the ship. "He was a good man, but he was old, weak. It was time. It's the way of the sea, you know that as well as I." He pauses to spit over the rail. "And we're going to need all the strength we can get."

Tiernan tears his eyes of Grania's form, calling out commands from the prow. "You think the O'Flagherty's will pose a threat?"

Niall shakes his head, a scornful grin playing at his lips. "Ah, those cowards? Nah, we can handle them alright. But a storm is brewing from the English."

"What do you two think you're doing, standing around gossiping like two old crones?" Grania yells, glaring at them with her hands on her hips. In that moment she is the embodiment of Ireland and the sea, her red hair, curled by the salty air flying haphazardly around her as she stands defiantly above them. "Make yourself useful, or you'll be swabbing the deck until your knees bleed!"

"Aye, captain!" they respond in unison, both jumping a little to prove they're acquiescing. 

"No time to mourn when a war's on its way," Niall mutters before striding away.

\--

Tiernan doesn't go to see her, and she doesn't come to see him. He decides that's all the better. He wouldn't know what to say, or do, even; she's still married, after all, and what in God's name do you say to your captain, chieftain, and exlover? 

He's going to be the expert on screwed up relationships by the time all this is over.

She hides her pregnancy well. He only ever sees her morning sickness once, and wonders if she controls that, like all other things, with her ironclad will power. It's not until Majella comes onboard (Grania crushes all opposition with a few choice threats and fiery glares) that Tiernan starts to notice her slower movements, her private grimaces when she turns away from the men.

He knows better than to try and help; she'll view any acts of kindness on his part as an insult and become only more determined to resist her body's needs, not to mention the rebuke he'd receive for even slightly implying any sort of weakness on her part.

Still, he has to bite his tongue hard when he sees her turn away and grip the rail, expression hard and distant. Once, when Grania bent over double, face contorting in pain, Majella had to elbow him roughly in the ribs to prevent him from rushing to her side.

Sometimes he wonders whether Grania brought Majella onboard for herself, or for him.

"Are you the baby's father?" she asks one night, when Tiernan has night watch.

"No," he replies, a little taken aback by the sudden blunt question. "No chance at all."

"Too bad," is her only answer before she strides away.

\--

Majella proves to be a welcome change from the rowdy cohort of men he's so used to sailing with. She's not afraid to pull her weight, when need be (admittedly she does weigh considerably less than most of the other sailors), and relays information to Tiernan like a gossiping old hag.

It's getting close to the baby's birth (Grania's taken to wearing the most ill-fitting clothes she owns, though Tiernan's certain the crew has caught on by now) when he and Majella sit on deck on a frigid night. She's wrapped in a thick woolen shawl that rubs against the fabric of his tunic when she turns to look at him.

She's talking quietly about something, but he's distracted from her words by the moonlight passing over her features as it sneaks in and out of the clouds. She's pretty, he reflects, in an Irish way, with strength in her jaw and life already etched in her forehead. 

He's never felt quite so...celibate before.

When she catches him staring, she holds his gaze until he looks away, apology ready on his lips, but a bemused smile is already on hers. "You'd stay true no matter what, wouldn't you?" she asks, though it doesn't sound very much like a question. "Even though she's in another man's bed?"

He can't find the words to explain why her words are true, why there is this garish double standard in their relationship, but Majella just smiles a little more with a small shake of her head. "If they're not calling you Saint Tiernan before all is done, it'll be cardinal sin."

She's quiet for a long time before she turns to him again. "This might be a stupid question, but how far are you willing to go to protect her?"

"As far as it takes," he answers immediately.

He almost second guesses his answer when a conspiratorial grin lights up her face. "I thought you might say that," she says.

He wonders briefly how women always seem to get him into these messes.


End file.
